


Black- and Blueberries

by muuny



Series: Fruit and other delicious things [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, i guess some angst, sly being adorable, slyjaku actually has a good relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 07:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1931253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muuny/pseuds/muuny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sly knows what Koujaku’s getting at, he just does not truly believe what the man’s saying. He cannot bring himself to. This was Koujaku and Aoba’s baby. Not his. He had no part in creating this child within him, and it certainly hurt because he’s carrying it. </p><p>(Post Oval Tower)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black- and Blueberries

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse this self-indulgent trash this is my first fic in this fandom plus I haven’t written anything in like seven months forgive mE.

There is absolutely no doubting that Koujaku incessantly loves his Seragaki Aoba. He has been – and still is – the latter’s ultimate protector, his very best friend and confidant, his lover, his all and everything. There isn’t a damned thing he will not do for the stubborn man with the blue mane he adored so, so much, and it went the same both ways.

Now with that established, take that love, and magnify it by, say, a thousand fold.

Because Koujaku and Aoba are going to be daddies.

How it happened, neither man had the slightest clue in the beginning. Yeah, they had sex, but men just don’t have sex and get pregnant on an everyday basis. Aoba later figured that is had something to do with him having an artificial birth rather than being born. He thought he should ask the only person he felt who could give him a candid explanation – or something close to it – as to what the hell was happening inside his body: Granny.

Tae also knew about their relationship (‘cause you can’t hide anything from Tae), so Aoba felt fairly comfortable in approaching her with all of his new and unfamiliar symptoms – the inexplicable fatigue, the disinterest in favorite foods, and the caustic bile he’d abruptly spew down any disposal within his clumsy reach. Months ago, she calmly divulged to the couple over her steaming doughnuts that Aoba was with child. Koujaku literally blacked out while Aoba detonated in tears. But Granny wasn’t having it. She grasped the closest cooking utensil and successfully beat Koujaku to consciousness, and then she smacked her blubbering grandson into silence.

“ _Oi!_ This isn’t the time for shirking! Now I don’t care how you two, hopeless knuckleheads do it, but I expect the both of you to take care of my great-grandchild,” she bellowed with emotion. She told Aoba to wipe his hideous, sniveling face in the bathroom – Sei scrambled behind him to check up on him and be of assistance – leaving her alone with a light-headed Koujaku. The latter straightened and stiffened as she approached…

“ _Koujaku_. I’ve always trusted you to take care of him, and that you have. You have never given me anything to worry about this far. That is why, especially now, I desperately need you to be there for my grandson. I’m not sure how all of this is going to go in the end – I’m equally concerned – but I need you to be strong for him. He’s going to need you.”  

Koujaku sensed the cleverly-disguised urgency in her tone. Tae was sincerely worried for Aoba’s well-being, but she really had no need to be. No matter near or far, hadn’t Koujaku always been there?

“I will, Tae-san. I give you my word,” he responded resolutely with a nod, the crimson jewels in his eyes glimmering with promise.  When Aoba resurfaced, Koujaku tightly wreathed his arms about his lover’s quivering frame and pressed him close. “ _Aoba, we’ll be alright. It’s just a baby_ ,” Koujaku smiled at his own words, and that’s the moment when everything actually registered for him, “ _it’s our baby_.” Aoba was reduced to loud hiccups and glossy eyes all over again, clinging onto his boyfriend like a wet cat. Tae san let them be, calling Sei into the living room to inquire about his sexual standing with Mizuki.

Aoba’s five months along now, and growing bigger by the day, it seems. He doesn’t get out much, only for the occasional walk, and Koujaku isn’t far behind. It’s all to shield him from unnecessary publicity. However, the others know about the pregnancy. Whenever Koujaku’s absent and at work, Ren takes over as Aoba’s personal bedside nurse. The AllMate also monitors the fetus’ development and alerts Aoba of any concerning finds. Clear is ecstatic to learn he’s going to have a young Master soon. He pops by Koujaku’s place, oftentimes unceremoniously, to check up on him and dote on his expanding tummy.  Noiz willingly tags along, too, pretending to be annoyed but is utterly taken by the glow Aoba radiates. Mink makes up excuses to come see Aoba and drop off assorted wildflowers each and every time. Even Mizuki finds time between work and Sei to crack his fresh jokes that are now all centered on the balloon under his stomach.

Yes, it’s all about Aoba now. Aoba, Aoba, Aoba.

No one ever thought to think of how Sly feels about the whole thing.

No one ever thinks to think of Sly.

Consequently, he’s fucking sick of it.

:::::::

“Aoba,” Koujaku says to the lump of sheets peaking from the center of his bed.

…

No response, just more nasally snores from beneath the sheets. Typical Aoba in the morning, but now with the baby, waking him is even more like pulling teeth, and then some. He’s become an absolute slug these past months. An adorable slug. No matter. Koujaku loves their little morning games. Indulges in them, actually.

“ _Ao~ba_ ,” Koujaku sings familiarly, creeping over the massive lump on his hands and knees. With a hooked finger, he pulled back the sheets, easing them off his love, revealing the azure crown of his head. Dragging lower, he unearthed his right ear, and as expected, Aoba’s still unsuspecting.

Maybe he’s being coy, Koujaku thinks inwardly, and his growing smirk stretches further across his lips as they quietly make their descent to the inviting, pale shell of Aoba’s exposed ear. Koujaku parts them, and out slips his tongue, softly striking the tip. He laps it a few more times before taking it between his teeth, grazing, pinching, wetting. The skin is so soft and so supple, so he easily gets carried away.

“ _Ergh_. Fuckin’ quit it, Koujaku. _Damn_.”

 Koujaku flinches, withdrawing his mouth reflexively.

That tone. The specific choice of words.

Sly. It’s Sly.

“…Sly?” Koujaku asks gently, just to be sure, but he’s pretty sure it’s him. It’s quite a surprise. What has it been? Five, six months since he’s come out to play? Too long. Koujaku genuinely missed this other side of his partner. Sly has his own charms he’s come to treasure, like the way the yellow rings in his eyes glint when he’s flustered. And when he sinks his teeth into his lower lip and nibbles three times when he wants the d. And how his feet twitch and kick about when he gets it.

“You are aware that it’s seven in the fucking morning, Koujaku.”

Koujaku gives a throaty chuckle and proceeds to kiss and orally meddle with Sly’s ear shell. He spoons and swallows him up from behind, petting his boyfriend’s silky, blue tresses and letting them pass through the valleys of his fingers. It’s been months since the trim Koujaku gave him, so his hair has really grown out.

“Well aware. And good morning to you, too, darling. S’been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah, and the first thing I wake up to is you slobbering all over my fucking ear like some teenager. Calm your dick.”

“Hmph. You’re one to talk,” Koujaku purses his lips and dips his aim a little lower to birth a kiss to Sly’s nape, “ _I’ve missed you_.”

Sly forces himself not to melt at that suave, deep voice, at those smooth, flitting lips, “Lies.”

“No lies. I’ve missed you, Sly. Were you hiding from me?”

“…”

“Did you miss me?” Koujaku coos again.

Sly huffs. “ _Eh_.” Basically, yes. He will not let the other know this, expectedly. Still, it was better than nothing.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Pissed and tired.”

“I know that much,” Koujaku’s right hand sails south, tentatively hovering over his boyfriend’s round belly before ultimately settling there, “but how are you _feeling?_ ”

Sly wiggles his legs under the threads.

“ _Mm_. Oh. You mean with the brat?”

“ _Our_ brat.”

“No. This is you and Aoba’s brat,” Sly points to his swollen belly beneath the sheets, but of course Koujaku can’t see given their current position, “ _I_ had nothing to do with this.”

“Oh? But what’s this about you and Aoba being the same?”

“Can it, old man. _Fuckin’ Aoba_ , _getting me knocked up like this._ ”

“I made love to the both of y—”

“—I’m done talking about it,” Sly interjects, clearly annoyed and more than necessary, as he peels Koujaku’s hand off and away from his stomach, “don’t you have breakfast to cook or somethin’? You woke me, and now I’m fucking starving.”

Sly tries to sit up on his own, but with a swollen, five-month-old lump bearing down on him, it kind of makes getting up and maintaining his balance a bit of a challenge. He’s not physically accustomed to his new body size, and of course he isn’t. The last time he was out, Aoba still had his abs.

“Need help?” Koujaku proposes. He branches out for Sly, but is instantly rejected by a flinging hand of dismissal.

“ _Hng_. I can sit up myself, thank you.”

“You sure? I don’t want you to have to strain yourself, bab—”           

“M’fine, Koujaku, _daaamn_. I’m pregnant not fucking handicapped. Get your ass in the kitchen.”

Koujaku combs his fingers through his loose hair, “ _Alright~_ ”

Since Sly obviously has everything under control, Koujaku decides to leave the bedroom and begin for the kitchen as his lover instructed. This morning is special to Koujaku. Sly has finally come to after all this time, and Koujaku wants to change things up, starting with the menu. Forget the traditional omelet, bowl of rice and miso soup. Sly adores pancakes, so pancakes toppled with blue- and blackberries are a must this morning.

As Koujaku prepares the batter, he ponders why it took so long for Sly to rear his head… Plus, and for whatever reason, he feels he has to butter up to Sly. He’s in hot water with him. It feels lukewarm at the moment, though. He’d like to keep it that way.

Loud, slapping footsteps against the hardwood floor declares Sly’s arrival to the main space. And it’s fucking adorable.

It’s a daily treat watching Aoba trot around the house toting a belly roughly the size of a beach ball – the beach ball that is his child – under one of his many wrinkled, flannel shirts. It’s like a stick trying to support a golf ball. Sly’s pouting makes the whole spectacle even cuter. He hobbles and wavers more exaggeratedly than Aoba does, hushed curses dotting the ends of his sentences as he moseys miserably around the living quarters. Koujaku has his pupils pinned on him the whole trek. It annoys Sly, of course, because he feels naturally scrutinized.

“Fuck are you lookin’ at?” Sly asks, rubbing his right eye with a rolled fist, the other hand supporting the trunk of his lower back. His cheeks are aglow with coral.

“You, of course,” Koujaku smugly replies, one that sends mini tremors crawling up and down Sly’s spine. Sly rolls his eyes, plops on the couch with a distinct sigh of relief, and begins to tinker with Aoba’s coil. Sly sniffs the air; a fragrance akin to burning oil dominates his senses.

“Pancakes?” Sly guesses correctly.

“Yup. I figured since it’s you, I’d make your favorite today.”

“I never said they were my favorite.”

“You’re welcome,” Koujaku concludes. He knows Sly enjoys them.

“Why do you always cook with your shirt off?”

“Would you like me to put one on?” Koujaku arches a brow in his direction.

Sly’s non-reply is his answer.

It doesn’t take a genius to make pancakes; Koujaku whips them up pretty quick. He assembles the dark fruits, assorted syrups, and glasses of milk and carries them to the dining table. Sly grumbles about Koujaku not bringing the food to the couch where _he_ is, thus making him move from his comfy spot. Koujaku offers his help, but Sly rejects, cursing and shuffling over to the dining table. A quick prayer is said, and forks are raised. Sly’s the first to shove the food past his lips, delving into his triple-layered pancakes.

“Is everything okay?” the older asks, regarding the food. Sly chews shortly before swallowing.

“I guess.”

Koujaku smiles. A confirmed “yes.” He digs in to his own meal, alternating his gaze from his food to his lover. Aoba is a rather neat eater, not spilling a single morsel of anything on some occasions. Sly doesn’t give a damn for aesthetics. Several of his blueberries tumbled off of his pancakes already. Syrup refuses to leave his fingers no matter how much he licks them. He is much like a child when he eats, another aspect of him Koujaku cherishes.

“S’been a while since we’ve had pancakes together,” Koujaku says.

Sly jerks a shoulder at the comment as if to say “Sure, whatever,” as he messily quarters his pancakes with the side of his fork, disregarding the knife resting next to the plate.

“Where’ve you been?” is what Koujaku really wants to say, but he opts for something wholly random.

“I love you.”

Sly’s eyebrows furrow in bemusement at the older man’s words. Their eyes lock.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

Koujaku tries a smile.

“My heart, clearly.”

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Being a kiss-ass _._ ”

“But I’ve missed you, Sly. It’s been over five months. I began to think that you were upset with me,” Koujaku confesses again. He embraces his calf with Sly’s bare one underneath the tabletop, following up with brushing his bare toes about the smooth muscle. Sly’s eyes perform more somersaults in his skull.

Well, he’s partially correct. He is sort of upset with Koujaku… he has to witness the two lovebirds chirp about _their_ baby and how _they_ are nervously excited. Not Sly, ‘cause apparently Sly was not a part of their happy little family. Well fuck it. He would say that he didn’t want any part of it, but then he’d be lying to himself. Sly feels that having these emotions is petty and beneath him, but he keeps finding himself jealous of Aoba. It’s just as Koujaku said all those months back: “ _…it’s our baby._ ”

“…Something’s the matter with you, and I don’t like when you’re upset,” Koujaku says. He keeps caressing his lover’s lower leg, hoping to coax something out of him. It doesn’t ever hurt to try.

“I’m fucking fine,” Sly growls in frustration, agitated, and it shows as he slashes into his fluffy slice of pancake, “jus’ drop it.”

Breakfast was delicious, but eaten silently the majority of the time. Sly hurries off to the bath afterward, leaving Koujaku to wash the dirtied dishes and tidy the kitchen, not that he minds. He’d rather leave Sly to himself for a little while... Evidently he’s troubled, but then again, when is Sly never troubled? Today, though, he’s more pissy than usual. Perhaps the added hormones from the baby are getting to him, but Koujaku feels that this – whatever “this” is – goes deeper than that.

Much deeper.

:::::::

Sly remerges from his warm shower twenty minutes later. He’s clothed in a cozy pair of nylon gym shorts and a blue and black striped flannel shirt whose material attempts to wrap around most of his stomach. His hair’s propped in a high ponytail. He appears surprised to see Koujaku lounging in the living space on his coil.

“Old man. The shower’s free,” Sly announces.

“I see that.”

“Don’t you have some big-boobed bitch’s hair to cut soon?”

“Not until eleven.”

Sly’s orbs expand to the size of saucers.

“Wha— _then why the fuck did you wake me up so early!?_ ”

“Maybe I wanted to see your face?”

“ _Tch._ You mean you wanted to see _his_ face.”

“ _Sly_.”

“Fuck _this_. I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

Sly sharply pivots on his heel – teetering in place for a moment to stabilize himself – and stomps back to the shared bedroom. Or, he was well on his way. Koujaku rips away from the couch, hot on Sly’s tail. He plucks him out of his spot by the hand and hauls him over towards the loveseat.

“OI. K-KOUJAKU. FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?”

They only make it halfway. ‘Cause Koujaku’s had it. Koujaku stops mid-step and forcibly jerks Sly’s head to face him. He cradles his head in his palms, burns him with his inflamed irises, then wetly joins their mouths in a very open kiss. Teeth clack. Tongues lash. Sly can’t breathe. Oh fuck. Oh _shit_. Koujaku’s really letting him have it. Sly doesn’t fight, either. He’s done fighting. He instantly surrenders to Koujaku. Physically, emotionally. He rings his arms around the older male’s neck and gives this kiss his all; it’s bruising and his knees are buckling and he’s mewling and his head’s heavy and god he loves it he loves everything about it. Koujaku’s hands drop from Sly’s countenance and both of his strong arms envelop Sly and a warmth in which the latter has not felt in ages is born between the couple.

Sly curses himself for feeling this way and accepting it, but he’s hungry. He wants to be cradled by Koujaku. He wants to be held by him, revered, and seen as Aoba’s equal. After being suppressed for so long and convinced that he was less than and unwanted, all he wants – _needs_ – to hear is that he is loved. That he is wanted. He doesn’t want to be left out anymore. Not by Aoba, and definitely not by Koujaku. He loves Koujaku, loves him so much that it mortifies him.

The kiss is exhausting for Sly, who pulls away for breath sporting a dusty pink, flustered visage.

“Don’t you ever leave me for that long again,” Koujaku orders against the moist, soft skin of the other’s lips. Sly – who would classically strike back with something sharp and sassy – allows Koujaku to further unravel his soul with his pupils. His eyes are alight with the hue of honey.

“I need to sit,” Sly utters.

A smug smile causes Koujaku’s lips to curl as he purrs, “Got you weak in the knees?”

Sly’s eyelids cut to threatening, yellow slits.

“Take me to the fuckin’ sofa.”

It raises a laugh out of Koujaku. He obeys, escorting his lover to the couch. Sly gathers a couple strands of Koujaku’s dark locks in his fists and crashes their lips together once more, but this kiss is less hasty, neater, and softer. Koujaku doesn’t resist the satisfied smile itching at his lips in the midst of their kisses. Something’s definitely gotten into Sly. Right about now he’d be trying to gnaw the pink muscle out of Koujaku’s mouth. Now he’s altering between tenderly suckling on his tongue and stroking it beside his very own. It’s thwarting, but all the while lovely. When things simmer and they part, Sly looks emotionally wrecked.

“Sly,” Koujaku starts, “Whatever lies you’re feeding yourself, stop it. Stop.”

Sly cast his bright topazes to what would be his thighs – if he could see it. Instead, they fell curtly to his swollen abdomen.

Leave it to Koujaku to see through him. Sly knows what Koujaku’s getting at, he just does not truly believe what the man’s saying. He cannot bring himself to. This was Koujaku and Aoba’s baby. Not his. He had no part in creating this child within him, and it certainly hurt because he’s carrying it. This isn’t _truly_ his child.

And deep down, that’s what terrified him the most. Sly’s already become attached to it. Aside from Ren’s suspicions, _he_ knew Aoba was pregnant before the helpless idiot himself eventually found out. He sensed another presence, a progressively growing presence. It was sweet and vulnerable, and Sly took to it. He protected it. That’s partly why he was so reluctant to surface. The other part was the looming fact that Aoba technically was the one with child.

Koujaku beams. He hit it right on the nail. He snakes his right arm behind Sly’s backside. Then, his large palms clasps and spans around either side of the globe resting on his lap. His hands are unnaturally warm… warm, big, and comforting… as they have always been. Sly uses his searching gaze to pierce Koujaku. He’s looking for bullshit. He’s always looking for bullshit from Koujaku. But the latter is beaming, a soft gentle light playing and enhancing all of his handsome features. He doesn’t find any bullshit…

…But what truly unsettles Sly – in the very good way – is that Koujaku’s strong eyes are trained on _him_. Not Aoba.

“This baby is just as much yours as it is Aoba’s,” Koujaku strongly states, rubbing him, “and I don’t want you thinking any different than that. This is our child. I made this with you.”

Sly doesn’t seem too convinced; his lips give that away. Koujaku pushes on.

“When Aoba told me to accept you, I had no choice but to obey his wish. I was indifferent and rather cold to you in the beginning, yes, but I thought that we put that behind us. I… I guess underestimated the amount of pain I actually inflicted on you when I said and did all of those hurtful things. I’m sorry that I made you feel that way, that I made you feel unwanted. I really am sorry, Sly, but I’m so happy to be experiencing this with you. I love Aoba, _and_ _I love you_ ,” Koujaku solidly promises the man beside him, taking one hand from Sly’s stomach to brush back his ruffled bangs from those honeyed eyes, “and I’m happy that you’re having my child.”

Golden irises mixed with crimson. Koujaku smiles and Sly gets chills. He presses his lips into a solid line. His face feels like it’s cooking. His bones churn to gelatin. Sly strips his eyes away.

Koujaku. Fucking smooth-talking, silver-tongued Koujaku. Only this man has ever made him experience such a vexing gamut of emotions. A piece of Sly hates the fact that this man wields this much power over him, and yet, another piece relishes in the idea of submitting a part of himself to him. It’s intoxicating.

 _He’s_ intoxicating, that goddamned Koujaku.

“ _F-Fuck_.”

Sly jumps in his seat after his hissed curse. Koujaku’s crimson spheres ignite with alarm.

“What is it?” he rushes, “ _Sly what’s wrong?_ ”

“N… Nothin’ s’just… it kicked.”

Koujaku’s visage relaxes considerably.

“Oh.”

“ _Ssshit_ , you’re tellin’ me you didn’t feel that?”

“N—”

Sly yanks one of Koujaku’s hands and redirects it to the lower-right region of his abdomen. Koujaku feels it now, the steady-paced _thumps_ of pressure hitting his palm.

“Ahh. I feel it now…” hums Koujaku, firming his hold on Sly’s stomach, very much cradling it. A wave of dense warmth overwhelms Sly. Koujaku turns to peer at him; their pupils mingle. An indecipherable expression is caked on the latter’s countenance, yet he seems at peace. A strange brand of peace.

“It’s your first time feeling it like _this_ , isn’t it?” Koujaku’s inquires, inching nearer. Sly nods after a very, very long pause, looking away. So _this_ is what Aoba feels whenever it moves. Sly’s felt it too, yes, but, not in _this_ way. Feeling the baby’s thumps consciously and physically are definitely different sensations, yet they are equally intimate.

This is really happening, isn’t it?

It’s seriously happening. He has Koujaku’s child inside of him. Kicking and tickling him. Weighing on his bladder and against his spine. So this is really his baby, too. He heard it from Koujaku’s very lips.

“How does it feel?” Koujaku murmurs damply into his ear. His right hand migrates to lie and rest on top of Sly’s; his chin nestles in the crook of Sly’s neck. The latter instinctively leans in to him. Koujaku responds with a reflexive peck to his cheek.

“ _I don’t fuckin’ know_ ,” comes Sly’s honest, mumbled response.

The older man chuckles.

“ _Cute_.”

“Don’t call me cute.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i like a cuddly sly i dunno bout you but gahh thank you for taking the time to read this. feel free to sacrifice [me](http://prettysoldierbee.tumblr.com/ask/).


End file.
